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So she practically dragged him, at least part way, and then she found herself being picked up. She squeaked, and Walker held her close and jogged them into the house.
“Impatient,” she said. She looked up at him, and suddenly he was not the Walker that she had known all these years. It was confronting. Almost terrifying. To see the predatory glint in those familiar green eyes. To look up at him and see not just a handsome cowboy she painted fantasies about for years, but a man. In her fantasies, she controlled what Walker did. What he said. Where he touched her.
In that moment, she realized she had no control. He let her play like she did out there. He’d let her take the lead. He let her rub her body against his just how she wanted. But her moment was over. She could see that clearly. This was about him. What he wanted, what he needed to take.
And right then, she knew exactly what to do. She pulled her dress up over her head, reached behind her and unhooked her bra. He growled, low and hard in his throat and she exposed herself to him. Then, she kissed his neck, his chest, and lowered herself to her knees in front of him. And discovered that he was way too tall and she was way too short.
“Well, shoot,” she said.
“What?” His voice was hard.
“I’m going to need you to sit down,” she said. He moved to the couch and sat, those thick thighs spread wide, his gaze hard.
He pressed his hand over the outline of his arousal in his jeans.
He was big. Bigger than either of the guys she’d ever been with. She loved that. She really did. Her fantasy man was superior in every way.
She moved forward, her hand shaking, and undid his belt. Undid the button on his jeans and lowered the zipper. She reached into his underwear and took him out and sighed. Because he was just so beautiful. He was everything she’d ever wanted. She leaned in and flicked her tongue over the head of his arousal, before taking him into her mouth and bobbing her head, taking him as deep as she could. He grunted, moving his hand to her hair and tugging hard as she continued to pleasure him and herself.
One thing she liked always about giving blow jobs was that it took the pressure off of her. It wasn’t about her pleasure, and it was the one time she didn’t feel like she had to put on a show and pretend that she was about to come, or whatever. Because men were too lost in the moment to really worry about her.
She didn’t need to perform pleasure now.
She was slick and wet, aching from pleasuring him. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. Maybe you were supposed to want the other person so much that pleasuring them pleasured you too.
She felt like she was having a revelation.
A very good one.
Abruptly, he pulled her away from him. “I don’t want to come like that,” he said.
“I wouldn’t mind if you did.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” he said, moving his thumb over her lower lip. She knew that he was calling her out on how eager she was. But it didn’t make her feel embarrassed. It just made her feel hot. “Later. I promise.”
“I’ll get the condoms.”
He sat on the couch, watching as she turned away from him and walked into the bedroom. She was going to have sex with him. On the couch maybe. The couch where she’d watched countless movies with the boys. Or maybe in his bed. His bed. That room was the one room she wasn’t all that familiar with. It was his domain.
She...
She went to her suitcase and took out the box of condoms. She brought the whole thing out with her.
While he was looking at her, he took his shirt off. And Frankie was stunned by his body. That hard chest, his rippling ab muscles.
“Talk about a waste,” she said.
“What?”
“You should’ve been out there banging women as a community service.”
He laughed. A shocked, short sound.
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“It’s true. You’re too hot to be celibate.”
“Tragedy doesn’t seem to give a shit.”
